<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>It shouldn't really be that way by xxsweetiepeachiexx</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27350338">It shouldn't really be that way</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxsweetiepeachiexx/pseuds/xxsweetiepeachiexx'>xxsweetiepeachiexx</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sanders Sides (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Bullying, Depression, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicide</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 22:36:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,679</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27350338</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxsweetiepeachiexx/pseuds/xxsweetiepeachiexx</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Virgil Storm wasn't expecting to have much of an interesting day, preferring to just blend into the background. </p><p>But in typical Virgil style, trouble still found him.</p><p>Now with the name of his crush in the open, and outed, the days events start to haunt the smaller boy until Virgil feels like he only has two options:<br/>To keep living<br/>or to give in to the voices.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anxiety | Virgil Sanders &amp; Morality | Patton Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Alternative ending will be coming soon! </p><p>ALSO PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY THE MENTIONS IN THE TAG!! </p><p>Stay Safe</p><p> </p><p>Also the song was Tokio Hotel 'Forgotten Children'. </p><p>Enjoy xx</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div>
  <p>It had been a <s>bad, </s> an average day for Virgil Storm; which was why he didn’t understand how it had all collapsed underneath him – the feeling of falling and drowning all too familiar in his overwhelmed mind.</p>
  <p>Was it because he was outed – publicly, mind you – about who his crush was whilst his crush was <em>standing right </em>there?  The laughter that echoed through the normally chaotic halls of Maryborough High? The hushed whispers and pointed jabs in his direction – the same ones that deemed him barely a nuisance and underserving to live?</p>
  <p>How many days has it been since a note that read, <em>‘Kill yourself, Emo</em>,’ was slipped in his locker?</p>
  <p>How many hours has it been since a bruise was not scattered on his body and his heart did not hurt from mindlessly thrown taunts and insults?</p>
  <p>How many minutes since Virgil tried to talk himself out of killing himself once and for all?</p>
  <p>The jagged, choked sobs that racked through the frail body’s chest did nothing to calm the nausea and inner turmoil that swooped inside, lest leaving him to fight for his own breath.</p>
  <p>He wanted nothing more than to just….<s>cease to exist, </s>fall asleep <s>and not wake up, </s> to ignore all the thoughts in his head, <s>to make them all finally quiet </s>and to pretend it was all a bad dream.</p>
  <p>Yet, no matter how hard he pushed, no matter how much he tried – he still could not get Roman Tulius’s bellowing laughter and declaration of, “<b>Me?</b> Me with<b>Brad Pitiful </b>over there? You must be daydreaming.” Virgil distinctively remembered the bite of his tone and the chortle that followed through – as if he could not simply stand to be breathing the same air as him. <s>Soon he will not be.</s></p>
  <p>The thoughts would not be stilled; the laughter would not be silenced, echoing through his ears as his own thoughts tried to pull him below the surface, with one inviting tug after another. What would be the harm in it? After all, he would be giving everyone what they had wanted for <em>quite </em>a long time. Maybe now was the time – to just… Let go. His hands grasped a pillow, thrusting the material against his face and ears in an effort to quieten his sobs and to stop the memories from torturing him further; but every time he closed his eyes all he could see was:</p>
  <p>The scorn from his first love.</p>
  <p>The tormenting laughter and cheers as something cold is dumped over his head, chilling him to his core.</p>
  <p>His arms being held back.</p>
  <p>Roman laughing.</p>
  <p>Someone trying to remove his jacket to show off the ‘Gold Star Emo’ <b>“Look! He’s even tried before! Imagine being a fucking failure that you can’t even die correctly.”</b></p>
  <p>
    
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>Roman laughing.</b>
  </p>
  <p>A scream was resonating through his room – it sounded distant but all too loud the same, and before Virgil knew it, his hands were fisted around his damp, blackened strands of hair and they were pulling, and pulling and <em>pulling. </em>His breathing short and <em>not enough air was filling his lungs. </em>His throat rasped, the scream stopping short in his throat as he clawed at it in his hope to feel something, <em>anything.  </em>The pillow laid abandoned by the corner of the room, cold and damp.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“<b>…Can’t even die correctly.”</b></p>
  <p>Blurred vision locked onto the drawer of his bedside table, and his eyes filled with more unshed tears. He knew what he had to do.</p>
  <p>Patton would be okay without him. Patton was always okay – he was not fucked up like him – his best friend could move on quickly. He had that type of personality that everyone just <em>adored</em>. Virgil let another heartbreaking sob free from his lips as they turned up at the corners in a mournful smile at the thought of never seeing his best friends’ cheery disposition after today.</p>
  <p>If he knew his life would have ended this day – he’s sure he wouldn’t have pushed Pat away like he had this morning- short and grumbling about being late to school in order to excuse himself from his friend and roommates concerned glances at spotting the red blood seeping through his sleeves. He might have stayed to finish breakfast and praise the other man for his superb cooking skills. But the world was unkind, and unfair at the best of times; Virgil had learnt that early on and cursed himself for ever letting his guard drop whenever Roman was around.</p>
  <p>Another staggered gasp passed the boys lips – another struggle for breath, chased by another tear.</p>
  <p>He didn’t want to focus on the image of Patton’s tear-streaked face in his mind. Focusing too much on those golden brown eyes welling with tears would surely break the last fragment to the rest of his shattered heart. He was hyperventilating, he could feel it in the way his hands started tingling, and his pulse raced faster – or maybe it was from the adrenaline of what he was about to do.</p>
  <p>He struggled to reach over to where the mahogany drawer kept the blades and bottle of Valium (the same on Patton had locked up for when Virgil’s attacks got bad, and the same ones he re-stole in case there was a moment of ‘just in case’. This was one of those moments.</p>
  <p>His shaky arms managed to retch open the drawer – the contents nearly spilling over his organised – yet messy – floor below him and didn’t hesitate in grabbing the small wooden box that others would often mistake for a jewellery box. The only person who knew of the contents was Virgil. The razor blades that made him hate himself more with every cut but also endure another day of life whilst simultaneously keeping the demons within himself at bay.</p>
  <p>He was tired.</p>
  <p>The deep bags under his eyes that he normally covered with a deep purple or black eyeshadow showed how many nights he had stayed up dealing with his own thoughts and anxieties; as was now prevalent from his smudged make up.</p>
  <p>He was exhausted.</p>
  <p>Virgil scrubbed at his eyes with his damp hoodie sleeve for good measure – the chalky and patchy foundation discolouring the black fabric pressed against his face. He should probably leave it behind, so Patton had something to remember him by.</p>
</div><p>The seventeen year old hastily sat up, tugging the hoodie off his body in one swift motion – the feeling of claustrophobia creeping in as he became all too aware of the heavy damp weight on his chest and arms– and he threw it over next to where his forgotten pillow lay. His eyes darted to the window, stuttered and uneven breaths the only noise in the room besides his pounding heartbeat and melody of a track in the background. He needed to be quick if he wanted to do this before Patton came home – no doubt the other man would go straight to his room – and even though the door was locked, Virgil knew from past experiences that it never took the other boy long to get the door unlocked.</p><p> He briefly remembered asking him about it once, even seeing his friend go as far as to use a spatula to unhinge the lock; however it was dismissed soon after and just became an unspoken rule that if Virgil didn’t answer or acknowledge the boy within a certain time frame then Patton would use all means necessary to barge down the piece of wood that separated them. Virgil could only hope this was not one of those days.</p><p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>‘Just a normal day</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Streets turn into graves</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Traces have been removed</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The search was disapproved</p>
</div><div>
  <p>So cold the night’</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The song had been on repeat since he had arrived home, crumpled and broken – the song helped him grieve yet also gave him strength as it looped back for another play through.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The box sat shakily in his hands, it was now or never. He couldn’t risk another failed attempt.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>His left hand tremored when he brought it to where his long sleeved shirt clung to his skin; the mixture of sweat, water and blood making him grimace as he ripped it up towards his elbow, exposing his scarred, pale arms with a sharp intake of breath. The cuts he had made this very morning were still weeping – the colour of white and red mixing into droplets.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Once the sharp blade made contact to his skin, Virgil hesitated, albeit briefly, as the flashing image of Roman’s face laughing at his own dismay haunted him. The younger boy bit down on his tongue as he pressed the flimsy piece of metal harder against his skin and hurriedly jerked it up towards himself in a long, vertical smooth motion. His eyes watched the skin split as another sob left him, the blood bubbling to the surface and spilling over.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The disgust that was evident in Roman’s voice rang out through his head as he moved next to his recent incision, the embarrassment flooding him into a fit of blind rage at himself as he deformed the new spot on his skin. His heart hurt, he could smell the copper in the air and it was starting to make his head spin; or maybe it was his hard, jagged breathing?</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>‘We'll never hear a name</p>
</div><div>
  <p>They carry all the blame</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Too young to break the chains</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Forgotten children</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>They see, they feel, believe</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Just like we do</p>
</div><div>
  <p>They're laughing, and crying</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Wanna live here</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Like me and you’</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>His arm hurt to move, the 10 long slices that ran from his forearm and up to the veins in the crease of his elbows made it evidently difficult to bend, and the blood was seeping into his jeans and bed sheet but it did nothing to curb his anger and sorrow.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He moved to the next one.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>If Virgil whimpered as the razor sliced too easily through his cartilage, atleast no one else was there to hear it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Virgil glared weakly in disgust at the thick crimson liquid that trailed along his arms and pooled onto his duvet, his chest heaving with each breath. The anger was still there, surfacing quick and with a vengeance. He could still see how hopeless he looked as they dragged him to the middle of the corridor - his legs hopelessly thrashing while he used all of his body weight to try and release himself but it had been no use. They had him pinned, and he swore he could still feel the burning sensation from the fingertip shaped bruises. He was disgusting. Ugly. A freak. Waste of space. Faggot.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He furiously shook his head to remove the image, the tears that had once subsided flowed freely once more. Virgil winced as the salt water that cascaded from his long eyelashes dripped into the mutated lacerations he made against himself. He refused to let those painful memories consume him during his final moments. He got what he deserved in the end. He hoped they were all happy. At least he got to tell Roman -even if it wasn't by his own words, and even though it blew up in his face. He deserved to know, after all.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He wished he felt better. He wished that all of this took enough of the edge off to last for one more day, but in reality it just made him feel worse. The mess he made of his own body and room was not one to be fascinated by. No wonder Princey didn’t want him. He was doomed to a life undeserving of love since birth. At least now he knew where he stood. At least now he wouldn’t be a burden to anyone.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>‘Eyes without light</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Too tired of good-byes</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Never felt embraced</p>
</div><div>
  <p>And frightened of every face</p>
</div><div>
  <p>A life in disguise</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Hope forever died.’</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Virgil dizzily placed the razor back into the box and slipped it into its original spot, the pills now replacing them. It was hard to get the lid off with the blood on his hands, and in hindsight he should have taken them first, to be positive it would work. It took a while of continuously wiping his hands clean until the child lock finally gave way and he could breathe again while he watched the white tablets tumble out into his hand. He blearily counted 36.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>36 should be enough…right?</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>His crimson stained hand encased the pills in a vice grip, and Virgil leaned his head back to finish off the job he couldn’t do last time. His hand let go, and two by two Virgil dry swallowed the contents in his hand until it was empty. A sense of serenity took place in his room that night, a sense of achievement and understanding of what he had done.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Virgil never really felt accomplished before – was this what it felt like?</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>If only he got to know what it felt like while he was alive.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He gently laid himself on his bed, the near empty pill case laid next to his bleeding arm in a comforting way. This was it, he had finally done it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He let his eyes flutter closed – and let all the good times with Roman and Patton overwhelm his senses, to let him go peacefully, to depart happily. After all, it was his last few moments, and for once he just wanted to be a little selfish. Fantasies of soft, rose coloured lips pressed to his own made his heart twinge in jealousy. Memories of honey-blonde hair, and freckles designed like constellations danced with his vision, and he felt his lips turn upward – just shy of a smile at the simple pleasure of viewing the one beauty that was Roman Tulius. This time when the laughter rang out, it wasn’t condescending of filled with venom. It had been a genuine bright laughter that had bubbled it’s way out of the theatre and track princes chest. One that Virgil had caused. It was a memory Virgil was happy to replay over in his head until the pills took his breath away.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>His eyes were starting to get heavier, as were his limbs. His mouth felt dry and his head felt foggy while his breathing seemed to be shallower than he remembered. But he did not mind. Virgil knew it was only time that stood between him and his escape from this shitty excuse he called his life.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He opened his dark jade centered almond eyes, and he frowned. The roof was starting to spin while he tried to focus on the glow in the dark stickers he had told Patton he didn't need but obliged with to make the other happy. He could feel his eyes going in and out of focus, the trenches were calling for him, and he could feel himself slipping.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>His head lulled to the side towards the view of the door, the buzzing in his ears a constant annoyance. If anyone had mentioned how inconvenient taking tablets were - he would have used a different method, he pondered as the buzzing faded out. He felt himself breath a sigh of relief, while the numbness slowly took over his exhausted and frail body. The only sound now that he could hear was the sound of his decreasing heart rate, his breathes and the blood pumping through his body.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Virgil blinked away the tears of relief that sprung to his eyes, refocusing his attention on the sound of his own body. It sounded strangely calming to him and he let the effect wash over him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He wondered if Patton heard what happened today. He wondered if Patton would hate him for what he had done.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He wondered if he saw the door handle rattle obnoxiously or if it was his eyes betraying him by losing focus again. They were getting heavy and it was becoming harder to not succumb to.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He wished he left Patton a note - to tell him it wasn't his fault and that everything would be okay. But he didn't and now it was too late.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He couldn't hear the pounding on the door over the white noise or the calling from his best friend whose face was etched with worry and terror; nor could he hear the dull 'thud' of someone's body slamming into the wooden door.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It shouldn't really be that way.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It shouldn't really be that way."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The door had finally given way, the crack from the middle of the pine door resonating through the room but not reaching Virgil's ears as he lazily gazed with half lifted, glazed eyes upon the blurry stature of his best friends form in the middle of the door way frozen in shock. Patton was shouting at him. The white noise was too loud for him to hear. He was running over to him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>With the smallest twitch of his lips, Virgil managed to smile softly at his best friend - trying his hardest to rasp the words he needed his best friend to hear the most through the darkness. His lips parted barely, mustering up his energy to use on this last second that seemed so important at that time.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Virgil never did get to say what he wanted but through teary eyes and final shattering breathes - Patton was sure he knew what he wanted to say...Even if it was never spoken out loud. It wasn't enough to bring his best friend back or soothe the ache, but Patton knew, and he loved him too. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> 'They see, they feel, believe</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Just like we do</p>
</div><div>
  <p>They're laughing, and crying</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Wanna live here</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Like me and you’  </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. It's never too late (alternative ending 1)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello!</p><p>Like usual, do not read if you are susceptible to triggers brought on by those in the tags!</p><p>Sad but still an alternative ending ;) </p><p>Hope you enjoy!</p><p>P.s; I love feed back k thx &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had been a <strike>bad, an</strike> average day for Virgil Storm;</p><p> </p><p>The door to his room had slammed shut as soon as he had entered through that small liberating space to his safe haven; the tears he had been holding back for so long cascading down his face as the strength he had no longer resided with in him, and exhaustion stood in it’s place. <em>Why </em>did they have to target him out, for what cause? He was different, he already knew that; they never failed to remind him. But what <strong><em>sick satisfaction</em></strong> would they ever get from the amount of torture they put him through every single day?</p><p> </p><p>The angry music Virgil had put on blared through the speakers, and the sound of heavy bass strings and guitar riffs circulated through the room.</p><p>Virgil slammed his head against the wooden frame – the dull throbbing upon impact did nothing to quench his misery while he sobbed; no matter how many times he thumped it against the arch.</p><p> </p><p>And for them to <strong><em>upload </em></strong>that video onto their social media accounts…</p><p> </p><p>Virgil’s’ blood froze in his vein and soon he was struggling to breathe because <em>shit, he forgot about the video. </em>Someone had been waiting with their phone out when it all went down, and less than 10 minutes had passed after the altercation when it had reached the frontline of the internet. The humiliation. The hopelessness. The taunts and jeers. <strong>Roman</strong>. He had thought of the older man as better than the display he had shown today; however, Virgil supposed in some weird, twisted way, that it was his fault. After all, he knew better than to trust people, and look where that got him.</p><p> </p><p>Soaked in water, bruised and heart broken.</p><p> </p><p>Virgil pushed himself blindly off the door frame, his trembling hand slipping from the door knob in amidst his stumble- the purple and black jacket was weighing him down, and down, and <em>down. </em>It felt like the dripping piece of material was encasing itself around his lungs and someone was pulling out the stitches and the threads to constrict it around his organs.</p><p> </p><p>Virgil gasped.</p><p> </p><p> He needed it off. He needed it off <em>now.</em></p><p> </p><p>He struggled with the fabric- an arm getting caught in the hood, and the other bent behind his back in his futile attempt to throw it off himself.</p><p>Virgil whimpered as he tried to push himself out of the restraints he had managed to get caught up in; the action felt uncomfortable and familiar to the seventeen year old as his wrists burned with the imprints of fingertips. A growl had passed by his lips and he thrashed while he pulled, tugged, and jerked the saturated cloth over his body – finally collapsing to the floor as he choked on his breath with relief.</p><p> </p><p> It was finally <em>off</em>.</p><p> </p><p>His phone dinged somewhere near him – and his hand reached out instinctively -almost as if it were a habitual motion for the distraught male. Maybe Pat was letting him know he would be late back tonight, or what if…</p><p> </p><p>Oh god.</p><p> </p><p>What if Pat saw the video?</p><p> </p><p>Would he think he was as worthless as everyone else thought he was?</p><p> </p><p>Instead of the name flashing with Patton’s number, it was an unidentified number, and an attached video was sent with it. Virgil didn’t need to click on the video to know what it was and he could feel the familiar burn behind the back of his eyes as previews of the video automatically played on the screen of his device. Everyone would know who he was after they watched the video; everyone would know how much of a freak he was. How <strong><em>pathetic </em></strong>and <strong><em>weak </em></strong>Virgil really was. There goes his master plan of blending into the crowd for the whole year.</p><p> </p><p>The acidic bile that Virgil had been trying to chase down rose to the back of his throat in his moment of terror and the phone that had been in his hands just moments prior was sent flying into the sapphire blue feature wall with his own anguish alongside it.</p><p> </p><p>Virgil sat with his own hands threaded into his dampened hair while he panted, trying to just get some <em>goddamn fucking oxygen</em> into his lungs. How much of a failed human did you have to be to even struggle with something as simple as <em>breathing</em>? An automatic human response? God, he really was not cut out for survival.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>His arms itched from where his fresh cuts from that morning were drying out, and Virgil very much so wanted to recreate the same act again. He briefly caught himself staring longingly towards the mahogany bedside table that held all his dirty secrets and coping mechanisms; the urge to cut just once more suffocating his rational thoughts. It was a fight for dominance, the logical side of his brain telling him that this was a minor setback; that things would get better and it was okay to hurt right now so long as he didn’t do anything abrash. But then, his sensory was on over drive and his nerves were tingling for the piece of metal that brought him the calm after the storm. His fingers were twitching in anticipation, and he knew he would cave quick.</p><p> </p><p>After all;</p><p> </p><p>He was <strong><em>weak.</em></strong></p><p> </p><p>Roman had been all he had looked forward to lately – he was the one thought that kept him living and thriving. The very sole reason Virgil Storm still breathed.</p><p>But he had made it clear how vile, disgusting, and meritless he was for even expecting the Prince of the school to reciprocate his <strong><em>stupid, fucking useless</em></strong> feelings.</p><p> </p><p>The pills still laid in his top drawer – enticing him with every second that ticked past as he tried to focus on getting his breath under control. Why shouldn’t he?</p><p>He’s had the means to go through with it for quite a while – no one would blame him if it was the events of today that finally prospered to him losing his life at the hands of his own mind.</p><p> </p><p>He used his hands to crawl forward, digging them into the harsh cold tiles as the skinny boy staggered forward to where his drawers were sitting, just waiting for him to reach in and grab the tools he needed. He was so close he could almost imagine himself making the first few cuts along his already scarred and mutilated wrists, and he could imagine the relief that would pass through him as the events of the day washed away with the blood he spilled.</p><p> </p><p>Virgil spluttered through his tears and gasps as he realized that now he was sitting on top of his black Duvet, the thin slice of metal now sat in between his two fingers, and blood was already starting to pour from one of the wounds he didn’t even remember making. His throat felt much too tight and his lungs felt far too small for the amount of air he needed at that moment; so he did the only thing he could do, and brought the razor down once more in a jerked motion – waiting for that sweet release that he had been imagining about through his panic-induced thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>However, it never came.</p><p> </p><p>The more he mutilated, the more angry he became; the cuts that had started small were larger and deeply split his skin into separated centimeters, the white from the fat staring back at him  before the blood would rise to the surface and trickle down his white skin.</p><p> </p><p>What was wrong with him?</p><p>Why wasn’t it doing anything?</p><p> </p><p>Virgil’s chest heaved with every breath he painfully sucked in, smudges of red adorned the corners of his face from hastily wiping his own sadness away and black dots formed in his vision. His nose stung with the strong smell of iron, but he refused to gag at the smell.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t deserve to die normally.</p><p> </p><p>It would not be enough to kill him alone, he knew that, for him to succeed, there was something else he needed.</p><p> </p><p>His eyes fell to the direction of the tablets, landing, albeit hesitantly, on the drawers beside him – his fingers shakily placing the sharp razor back into its original hide-away spot away from prying eyes. He needed to be smart about this.</p><p> </p><p>It was hard to be smart when your senses were overwhelmed with the smell of blood and your thoughts were currently coercing you into killing yourself, he reasoned with the voices bitterly.</p><p> </p><p>His hand sunk into the mattress, and Virgil grimaced at the wet texture of the cotton unpleasantly while he encased his other hand tightly around the bottle of Valium. His hands slipped frequently due to his own lack of preparation, and it soon became a battle to unlock the child lock; although Virgil was losing. His arms were sore, they felt like lead and they <em>burned.</em></p><p> </p><p>He was still crying..</p><p>How was he still crying?</p><p> </p><p>Virgil bit harshly on his bottom lip to stifle the noises that passed through with every intake of emotion, preferring to let the music drown his sorrows out with every beat that shook the room.</p><p> </p><p>But it still wasn’t enough.</p><p> </p><p>“Virgil? Kiddo? Are you okay?”</p><p>The sound was muffled behind the music and his door, but Virgil could recognize that voice and wording anywhere, and it was like that cold bucket of water got thrown over him all over again. Virgil’s heart slammed dangerously in his chest – his stomach took another route and twisted itself beyond recognition. He thought he was going to throw up.</p><p> </p><p>He had to be quick, before Patton realized what a failure Virgil was.</p><p> </p><p>Nimble fingers fumbled and twisted with the cap for a few more seconds, the lid clicking as it rotated through his palm before finally, <em>oh fucking finally</em>, the lid unscrewed and let Virgil pour the entirety of the contents into his crimson stained hand. It was the most anxiety dwelling few seconds, because behind that door, he could hear the doorknob rattling, and the voices getting more distressed the more seconds that passed without acknowledgments.</p><p> </p><p>He was so close. ‘Just a few more seconds.’ Virgil begged to whatever gods were looking down on him – yet if there really was a god, why had they succumbed him to suffer through this horrible sense of existence.</p><p>“Virgil-! What the---.”</p><p>His head whipped towards the doorway in shock; and the pills that he had held so firm fell– scattered amongst his tiles in no sense of pattern; the clattering indicating that they had all dispersed in some direction or other.  Virgil sucked in another breath, trying to ignore his heart hammering in his chest, but his emotions were worn bare on his face as he saw Patton’s two child-sized hands cover his own mouth as the father-like friend realized what <em>almost</em> would have been. Yeah, <strong><em>almost</em></strong>.</p><p>He hadn’t even heard the door open! When did Patton get the door open?</p><p>A shiver of disappointment crawled down Virgil’s back as he hurriedly attempted to press himself against his own bed head, the arms he had spent all those minutes disfiguring were now pressed uncomfortably in an embrace around his own stomach, ignoring the way they pulled on his shirt.</p><p>“Virgil…” Patton finally breathed, and he took his first timid steps forward towards his younger counterpart- worried if he moved too fast Virgil would shut down completely. Patton had been with Virgil through a lot of things, but this was now up on his top 2 worst memories. How was he supposed to just forget that he walked in on his best friend with approximately over 50 tablets in his grip – and the blood… It was the first thing Patton had smelt when he ascended the stairs.</p><p> </p><p>Virgil couldn’t help the embarrassing whimper that came from his slightly parted lips, his head casted down between his knee’s while he fought for the tears to stay back. He wanted to be angry, another futile attempt to save himself. But, he just couldn’t. He knew Patton cared deeply about him; but couldn’t he see how much he was hurting? If he was Virgil, he’d try too.</p><p>There was pressure in his head, and he could feel his body rocking back and forth on the squeaky mattress, short and painful wheezes mixed with salty tears.</p><p>He could hear the mattress squeak, the foam dipping gently as he assumed Patton took his seat. “Hey, Hey, Come on Kiddo, none of that.”</p><p>Pattons voice did not raise above a whisper while he talked the shaken boy down; choosing the use the time to interlace his own fingers into Virgil’s hair to remove the heartbroken boys’ fingers that had tangled themselves into his porous strands.</p><p>With a steady hand – although Patton himself had to wonder how he was being so calm throughout this whole ordeal – he brought one of Virgil’s hands towards his own chest, placing Virgil’s cold, tremoring hand over his heart. Patton mentally winced as he caught a quick glimpse of the damage his friend had inflicted upon himself and he took a breath to ground his own nerves. It would be okay; he would just try not to look down at the massacre in front of his eyes. “Just like we’ve done before, kiddo – you can do it, right?” Patton coaxed him gently – oh so gently, as he took an exaggerated breath himself, holding it for 7 seconds and then exhaling in the same fashion so Virgil could follow along easily.</p><p>Virgil shook his head harshly – gasps and coughs that protruded from his body hurt his already raw throat, and his lungs were ablaze with lack of oxygen – however, in true Patton fashion, he was still as patient as ever, no matter how many times they had to restart the exercise.</p><p>His breathing was still slightly labored, but it was a lot better than what it had been before, the inflation of his chest suddenly alerting Virgil of how exhausted he truly was. “There you go, that’s better.”</p><p>Virgil cautiously lifted his head from his knee’s, expecting Patton to be angry or disappointed – hell, he did disappoint a lot of people – but Virgil wasn’t expecting to see worry and another unspecified emotion in his best friends shimmering eyes that sparkled with unshed tears himself. There was no judgement in front of him, just concern and support.</p><p>Support and Concern, for <em>him</em>.</p><p>Virgil choked on another sob.</p><p>How could he have tried to do something so detrimental to his counterpart?</p><p>Virgil opened his mouth to say something, <em>anything,</em> that would portray how guilty and sorry he felt; but Patton merely raised a hand to signal him to be quiet before pulling the boy who felt he had the worlds weight on him into an embrace.</p><p>Virgil had expected yelling, shouting, panic…Not this.</p><p>Not this type of level of unrequited love that was only ever spoken through looks and body language that the other had become well acquainted with. He could feel the others’ shoulders shake as the elder male finally let free the tears he had been biting back; and Virgil stayed, curled in his arms until the male deemed long enough. It was the least he could do.</p><p>It took a while, Virgil unsurely attempting to comfort him through the sniffles and heart wrenching sobs that he hadn’t heard the other male release in months, but Virgil froze as Patton’s voice, as muffled as it was pressed into the youngers hair, spoke louder than any voice that resided in Virgil’s head could.</p><p>“I-I saw the video…I-I was so worried t-that I was too late…”</p><p>Storm sighed deeply, pressing himself a little harder into the safe embrace that protected them from the cruel world outside their own bubble.</p><p>“Me too.”</p><p>Time stopped briefly for the two, and silence hung over them as a mutual understanding between two friends.</p><p>Patton spent a few more moments sniffling, before pulling away from Virgil with a weak lopsided smile – although, Virgil noticed guiltily how it didn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s go get you cleaned up, and then how about we spend the night watching The Nightmare before Christmas, and Black Cauldron?”</p><p>Virgil could feel his lips twitch softly into a small smile as he let the other guide him from his room cautiously.</p><p> </p><p>It had not been a good day for Virgil Storm.</p><p> But with Patton by his side; maybe things could get better.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>